


On the Overnight Train

by Mats



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, But also probably in love, First Meetings, Gen, Inspired By Tumblr, M/M, On a train, One Shot, Viktor is probably in love, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, Yuuri is shy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-23 03:41:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11981379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mats/pseuds/Mats
Summary: A canon divergent one-shot in which the drunken banquet in Sochi never happened and Viktor meets Yuuri for the first time on an overnight train.





	On the Overnight Train

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Leaves_Crown](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leaves_Crown/gifts).



> A quick fic I wrote while actually riding an overnight train. Don't ask me where they're going or why they happen to be on the same train together. It's best not to think about it too much. Just enjoy.

The first time Viktor noticed the Japanese man was in the lounge car before the train jolted to life as it pulled out of the station. He went to have a glass of wine before his journey began in earnest, hoping it would make the next eighteen hours feel less than. He ordered a half bottle of red from the man behind the mini bar and slipped into a two-seater next to the window where he could see people milling about below as they said their goodbyes to loved ones and boarded their cars. Viktor peeled the seal on the bottle and emptied a quarter of its contents into the cheap, plastic cup he’d been given, a curious thing that was vaguely shaped like a goblet. It was when he lifted it to his lips that he saw the other man, sitting two tables down and facing in his direction with his mouth slightly ajar and his dark eyes wide behind thick, blue frames. He cradled a bottle of beer between both hands, fingers feeling along the edges of the label that wrapped around it.

Viktor smiled politely and lifted his cup in salute to the stranger. The man blinked dumbly twice, and then his whole face went sunburnt red as he hastily lowered his gaze. And that was when Viktor noticed his eyelashes, long and noticeably thick, even behind those lenses. They were lovely, as was the ruddiness in his cheeks.

A wail from the platform drew the Russian’s attention away for a split second. A woman, pretty with pale skin and dark hair, was sobbing against the chest of a man that towered over her as he pulled her to him. Lovers. How nice.

“Thank you,” came a mumbled voice; Viktor turned his head just in time to see the stranger place the bottle on the bar and shuffle in the opposite direction, toward the coach cars.

The second time Viktor noticed him was during dinner service. He saw the man from earlier seated at a table with an elderly couple who seemed completely disinterested in his presence as they chattered at each other. The other man frowned down at the dinner roll in front of him, and the way his brows knit together under the shock of dark hair that hung over his forehead was strangely charming. Viktor found himself heading for the empty seat just across from him before he understood his own intentions. He was just a few steps away from the table when the stranger finally looked up and regarded Viktor with that same wide-eyed stare like he was in shock. His lips parted and Viktor lifted his eyebrows in anticipation of whatever was going to be said to him when a redheaded man slipped into the seat and muttered something to the old couple, who chided him for making everyone wait before they could put in their orders. The redheaded man offered a curt apology to the doe-eyed stranger, who shook his head in reply.

“This way, sir,” a crew member said, touching Viktor’s elbow gently and urging him into a booth across the aisle, diagonal from the seat he’d intended to take.

The stranger ordered the chicken entree; Viktor ordered the same (for no real reason, he told himself). Throughout the meal, Viktor ate without taking his eyes off the stranger for more than a few moments. He tried, really, because it was obvious from the way he never lifted his head that the other man had noticed Viktor’s staring. But that he cut his food into perfect, bite-sized pieces and the brightness in his eyes as they lit up when he got a morsel that was obviously delicious enchanted Viktor, so how could he _not_ watch?

He paced his meal with the stranger’s without meaning to. After a busboy cleared his plate away, the crew member from earlier passed by the table, which Viktor shared with three young, excitable boys who took photos of each part of the meal and endless selfies, and asked if he wanted dessert or a cup of coffee. He glanced over to the table where the other man sat and saw another staff member asking similar questions to the foursome there. The woman hovering over his table shifted on her feet with the sway of the train and blocked Viktor’s view; she asked again what he’d like.

”Coffee, please,” Viktor said to the woman with a smile.

“Sure thing,” she chirped.

The other three boys called out their requests for sundaes and slices of cheesecake topped with strawberry preserves, which the woman wrote down dutifully. When she finally shuffled past, Viktor’s eyes flew back to the other table only to find the end seat that had been occupied by his stranger empty, the cloth napkin folded neatly on the table. Leaning back into the imitation leather, Viktor let his shoulders slump in tandem with a sigh. The three youths stopped their frenzied conversation just long enough to glance at him, then at each other.

The third time Viktor noticed the stranger, he almost didn’t. The lights had been dimmed for the evening and he tried to close his eyes, get a few hours of sleep. But everything was working against him. The Business Class cars were bright with the glow of laptop and tablet screens as salarymen tapped away at reports and presentations, and the coffee he’d had earlier hadn’t yet worn off completely. Viktor felt restless and after sitting in his reclined seat for more than hour with his eyes screwed shut in some half-assed attempt to at least _pretend_ he was sleeping, he got to his feet and headed toward the lounge car. Maybe another half bottle of red or perhaps something a little harder would do the trick, lull him into a bit of sleep.

The lounge car he’d visited earlier, he found crowded with more businessmen, some working, some schmoozing loudly with others. Viktor absolutely needed something quieter, so he passed through and went out the other side, toward the Coach seats, to check out the lounge at the end of the train. He made his way through the cars, dusting his fingers over the backs of seats as he went just in case he might need to make a steadying grab if the train jerked suddenly. He was nearly there, strolling down the last car before he would reach the lounge, when he heard a sharp, cut-off squeak, like the sound Mila made when something surprised her. His eyes went searching for the source and found it sitting in the aisle seat. Big, brown eyes framed in blue, just as wide as before, and the same open mouth, slack with shock, or awe, or at least surprise.

Viktor had thought the man was nice to look at from the beginning. The eyelashes had been the start, and the eyes under them were equally lovely. But at this close distance, Viktor could see with certainty that this man wasn’t just nice looking, but rather, he was _handsome._ He had round features that contrasted strikingly with the hard line of his jaw and the thick sinews of his neck. His lips were full and his teeth small.

Viktor grinned. “Hi, again.”

“Um.”

“We seem to keep bumping into each other.”

“Uh?”

“Care to join me for a drink?” Viktor heard himself ask before he could fully comprehend what he was suggesting.

The other man snapped his mouth shut and straightened his back in his seat. “Er... no. No, thank you. I don’t drink.”

Viktor canted his head to one side. “You had a beer before the train departed.”

“Oh. Yeah, um. I mean, I don’t go over one drink a day. I can’t.... I don’t have a high tolerance.”

“Ah,” Viktor said with a slight nod.

“Sorry,” the other man mumbled, bowing his head so that his chin nearly touched his chest.

“Don’t worry about it,” Viktor chuckled.

At this point, he could have just wished the stranger a good evening and continued on his way toward the promise of sleep in liquid form. Instead, Viktor slid into the empty seat across the narrow aisle and leaned over the armrest to extend a hand.

“I’m Viktor. Viktor Nikiforov,” he said.

The other man lifted his head just slightly and glanced at Viktor from the corner of his eye. “I know.”

“You know?”

The stranger nods. “I’m... um... I’m a fan,” he stammered. “Of you. Of your skating.”

That explained the blushing, the wide eyes, the open mouth like he’d seen a ghost. “I see,” Viktor said slowly. “And do _you_ skate?”

The other man flinched at that but nodded silently.

“Competitive?” Viktor asked, finally withdrawing his hand from the space between them when another passenger ambled down the lit path.

The stranger nodded again and wet his lips with the tip of his tongue, a gesture that probably shouldn’t have affected Viktor the way it did. “I’m Yuuri Katsuki,” he said as he finally lifted his eyes to meet Viktor’s.

Viktor pressed his mouth into a thin line; the way Yuuri Katsuki looked at him as if he were waiting for Viktor to have some kind of epiphany made him feel inexplicably guilty. The tension in the air around them made it clear that Viktor should recognize the name, but he didn’t. Still, he tried to keep his face neutral as not to give away his ignorance. But Yuuri Katsuki had apparently already caught on.

“We competed together. In Sochi,” Yuuri explained further, his tone measured and guarded.

“ _Oh,_ ” Viktor said, a long pause following, and then, “Well, this is embarrassing. How rude of me. I’m terribly sorry. I don’t ever really pay attention to the competition until--”

“It’s fine,” Yuuri interjected, shaking his head. “I wasn’t exactly competition. I came in last and made a fool of myself.”

“Don’t say that!” Viktor said sternly, enough for Yuuri to flinch again. “I’m sure you’re a wonderful skater!”

Yuuri chuckled darkly and leaned back into his seat. “You say that, but you didn’t even know I _was_ a skater until just a second ago.”

“Then show me!” Viktor said just a little too loudly. He ducked his head as an older gentleman in the seat behind him grumbled, having been disturbed from his sleep. Turning his eyes back to Yuuri, he leaned across the aisle and repeated his request in a half-whisper. “There’s wifi on the train. Show me a skating video or something!”

“No, that’s--” Yuuri started, but Viktor was already digging his phone out the pocket sewn into the inner lining of his blazer. He tapped away at the screen until he found what he was looking for: a list of short videos featuring Japanese skater, Yuuri Katsuki. Sparing the quickest of glances up at the actual man before him, he touched the first video and watched. There was no sound, and even if there had been, Viktor wouldn’t have listened to it out of respect for the passengers dozing in their seats. But he didn’t _need_ sound; he watched Yuuri glide along the ice and launch himself into sequences that seemed to _ooze_ music. It was magical, actually; Viktor knew the song and the program before he even properly checked the title of the video, and it was breathtaking. Literally. Viktor found himself holding air in his lungs as the video ticked on, long enough for it to start burning.

“ _Wow,_ ” he exhaled, his eyes tracing Yuuri’s movements across the screen. His cheeks warmed as Yuuri carved paths into the ice with his skates and into the air with hands held just so.

“Wai--wait, what are you watching?” Yuuri hissed; his hand shot out and snaked around Viktor’s wrist, pulling it down so he could see the screen in the Russian’s hand. His eye rounded so extremely, Viktor briefly wondered how they weren’t falling right out of their sockets as they scanned the title of the video.

**_[Yuuri Katsuki] tried to skate Viktor’s FS [Stammi Vicino]_ **

“ _Oh my god,”_ Yuuri balked, letting his hand fall limply away. “I can’t believe you just--”

“I can’t believe I hadn’t seen it sooner,” Viktor interrupted, glancing back down at the screen just as Yuuri entered the second half of the program. “This is... amazing.”

“ _Oh my god,_ ” Yuuri muttered again as he slid his hands up his face and under his glasses.

Viktor paused the video and powered down the screen before he slipped the phone back into his pocket. Leaning back into the seat, he allowed Yuuri a moment longer to wallow in his mortification before speaking further. “I’m genuinely impressed,” he said. “And disappointed in myself for not remembering you. But now I’m excited to see you at Worlds!”

Yuuri’s hands fell away to his lap; his gaze followed suit. “Oh. Um... I didn’t qualify.”

Viktor blinked blankly, the statement taking a beat too long to process fully. “What?” was all he managed to say.

“I didn’t qualify,” Yuuri repeated, picking at his nails. “It’s probably good you don’t remember me because I sort of... self-destructed. In Sochi. And after.”

“Oh,” Viktor said.

“I uh... actually, I’m thinking of quitting,” Yuuri said.

Yuuri jumped when Viktor legitimately gasped at his confession; Viktor spared only a second to feel sorry for startling him. But after that, all bets were off. He leaned over the armrest and grabbed Yuuri by the hand, squeezing it while he burned holes into Yuuri’s eyes with his own. “Don’t quit.”

“H-huh?” Yuuri stammered, his whole body going stiff.

“Don’t quit. _Please._ It’d be such a waste. You’re so beautiful.”

Even in the low lighting, the red that crept along Yuuri’s cheeks was obvious. He opened his mouth and closed it like a koi fish gasping for food, or maybe a drowning man straining for air. Watching him, Viktor realized the vague nature of his statement and cleared his throat. “You’re a beautiful skater,” he clarified.

“O-oh,” Yuuri replied with a slow nod. “Um. Thank you, but... I don’t know. I haven’t decided yet.”

The air between them went thick and as soon as Viktor released Yuuri’s hand, he watched the Japanese man curl into himself, obviously uncomfortable. Shifting in his seat, Viktor wet his lips. “You sure you don’t want to have a drink with me?” Viktor offered. Maybe a glass of something strong would take the edge off. But Yuuri shook his head.

“No, thank you.”

With a grimace, Viktor nodded and rose to his feet. If taking the edge off wouldn’t work, the least Viktor could do was give Yuuri a little space. The awkward atmosphere _was_ mostly his fault, after all. “Then I’ll go have a quick one on my own. Would it be okay if I come talk with you again after?”

“S-sure?” Yuuri said, raising his eyes to meet Viktor’s for just a moment before he lowered them under his dark lashes once more.

Viktor half-smiled down at Yuuri and nodded. “All right. Later, then.”

“Later,” Yuuri parroted without looking up.

With a parting nod that was more automatic than for Yuuri’s benefit, Viktor slipped back into the aisle and ambled toward the back of the car on uncertain legs as the strain swayed. He passed into the lounge car, which he found mercifully empty. The woman behind the small counter was sorting trash and packing away snacks and soft drinks that hadn’t sold earlier in the trip. Looking up with a frown, she told Viktor the lounge would be closing in ten minutes. Viktor nodded and assured her he just wanted a quick nightcap before bed, slipped a few bills from his wallet and requested a cup with ice and two small bottles of Scotch.

With his purchase in hand, he sat in one of the curved booths and poured his drink, all the while doing his best to avoid the pointedly annoyed gaze of the female employee. To do that, he took out his phone again and finished watching Yuuri imitate his routine. When it ended, he scrolled through the list of recommendations and watched clip after clip of Yuuri’s older programs: some grainy, poor quality footage of his junior days, a captivating short program from Japanese Nationals a few years back, and finally, Yuuri’s free program at the Grand Prix Final in Sochi, the competition he’d skated in with Viktor.

It was true that the latter video was somewhat painful to watch. Yuuri took fall after fall, and his face grew tighter and more pinched with each failed attempt. But there was _something_ there. Something raw and wonderful, and even if it had been a low point for Yuuri, Viktor found himself replaying it just to watch all the parts in between. Something stirred in the Russian’s chest as he sipped on his liquor, something that Viktor hadn’t felt in a long, long time. When he figured out what it was, he downed the rest of his Scotch, thanked the woman as he handed over his empty plastic cup, and stormed off, back toward Yuuri.

The Japanese man was already asleep by the time Viktor returned.

* * *

Yuuri woke with a jolt, his vision unfocused and drowned out by light. He reached up and patted around until he found his glasses askew on the top of his head. Repositioning them on the bridge of his nose, he looked up to see a male crew member standing over him.

“Good morning, sir. We’ve arrived at our destination. Everyone has already gotten off.”

Scrambling, Yuuri stood in a hurry and bashed the top of his head on the overhead storage area. A gruff Japanese curse slipped from his lips.

“Take your time, sir,” the man offered.

“Thanks,” Yuuri muttered as he turned and gathered his backpack and the small carry-on suitcase that he’d stored on the floorboard of the empty window seat. As he bent over, a slip of paper fluttered out of his shirt’s breast pocket.

“Oops,” the crew member said genially, bending down to retrieve it. He handed it over to Yuuri. “You dropped this.”

“Thanks,” Yuuri said again, taking the slip and shoving it into his pocket. The crew member gave him a polite nod and continued down the aisle.

When he satisfactorily readjusted his bags, Yuuri carefully made his way down the steps onto the first level and then out onto the station platform, where only a few stragglers remained. He found himself searching the faces of each one, and then the faces of those still inside the station when passed through it on his way to the lane where taxis were lined up, waiting. He didn’t find the one face he was looking for, though, and frowned. Seeing Viktor Nikiforov on his train had been lucky. _Talking_ to Viktor Nikiforov had been unbelievable. Hearing Viktor Nikiforov call him-- _his skating_ \-- beautiful had been a miracle. But hoping that Viktor would really make good on his promise to come back and talk to Yuuri more had been greedy. Yuuri knew that. Still, the disappointment stung.

In the back of a generic black taxi, Yuuri slumped into the warm leather seat and recited the address of his destination to the driver. The drive was short and uneventful. When the cab pulled up to the curb, Yuuri leaned forward and dug cash out of his pocket; the slip of paper came out with it. He held it aside while paying and then stepped out of the car. While the driver came around to open the trunk and unload Yuuri’s luggage, the Japanese man turned the paper over in his hands and read it, his eyes dilating into large saucers and his mouth falling open.

_Let me be your coach._

_Skype me: makkachin-papa_

_Viktor_

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [Leaves_Crown](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leaves_Crown/profile) for the suggestion! It was nice to crank out a quick drabble while on the train, especially after writing two chaptered stories and working on a third. The atmosphere on the train definitely lends itself to thrown-together encounters, and the whole experience was sort of a writer's dream.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed; thanks for reading! I live for comments and kudos. You can also come find me on tumblr [@hanarezu-ni](http://www.hanarezu-ni.tumblr.com) for a lot of YOI goodness and information about my victuuri fics!


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